


The Flagg, the Ducks and the Spies that Weren't

by Talayse



Series: Nobody Expects the Flagg [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, MASH (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talayse/pseuds/Talayse
Summary: Colonel Flagg has been running surveillance, which would be going a lot better if only the ducks would work properly.
Series: Nobody Expects the Flagg [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/279414
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	The Flagg, the Ducks and the Spies that Weren't

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale's dialog is taken directly from the novel. Thought I should mention that.

There were more spies in the park than ducks, and the best of the worst moved among them like a well, duck on water. Or possibly water off a duck.

Flagg stopped behind two suspiciously innocent looking men who were talking to each other while not actually looking at each other, they were looking at the ducks like they were the most interesting things in the world. Their conversation was in code, but Flagg was working on cracking it. They met regularly, so he was fairly far along. Flagg idled nearby, pretending interest in the ducks. They weren't real ducks, he knew that well enough. He'd changed their batteries more times than he'd like to admit.

The tall, dark one said, "How many musicians has your side got, eh? First grade I mean."

Flagg was fairly sure that "musician" was code for scientist, possibly nuclear bombs, or the tall dark one could be ordering lunch. These two, they were canny. Flagg was so wrapped up in thinking about the code he missed the shorter one's reply.

The tall one said something about eggs and salt and salt without eggs or eggs without salt. Flagg was going to have to replace the microphones in the ducks, they just weren't picking up the way they use to.

"You know we don't play harps," said the shorter one. He was so very British that it really grated on Flagg's nerves sometimes. No one could actually be that much of a walking stereotype, could they? He made a mental note to cross reference harps, he thought that had a suspicious sound to it. Nobody actually played a harp, that was for certain. They weren't real.

"It's just that I'm not allowed to disobey. You know that." That was interesting, was shorty looking to change sides?

"Me too." Were they both defecting? Could you do that? Where did you defect to if the other side was also defecting? This was so good Flagg could barely sit still. He hadn't had this much fun since the last time he'd bugged the Louvre. The things that went on in that museum defied explanation.

"Oh come now, you're a demon after all." Flagg huffed, there was no reason for them to go into their personal lives. 

They were still talking about disobeying, and how long they could get away with it as they got in a car. 

Flagg contemplating jumping up on the roof to follow them, if they both went rogue, things could get interesting, since he still hadn't ascertained who they worked for. However, he didn't want to follow them if they were heading off to have an . . . assignation. 

It was disgustingly common in the spy community, taking up with your fellow— if on the opposite side— spy. No one else really understood the importance of always having the right change of clothes, fake mustache and red lace doily.

Speaking of which, Flagg stopped to check his chronometer, it was about time to see a werewolf about a wicker chicken.


End file.
